


Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Alive: A Tragedy

by Lovova



Category: Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead - Stoppard
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Mind the warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 22:42:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20181910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovova/pseuds/Lovova
Summary: TEMP HIATUS: The circumstances of their lives were baffling and terrifying. Is it any wonder one of them would eventually lose it?





	Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Alive: A Tragedy

If pressed, the man without a name, but whom we will know as Rosencrantz, would have to admit that the very first thing he remembered that day was the feel of his pillow pressed messily to his drool drenched cheek. He'd remember the haze of sleep fading, the smell and sounds of a sunny morning, birds hunting for their meals as the sun started to rise. Those were the real first memories of the day.

But the only memory that mattered, the first meaningful moment of the day, if you would, was turning over in his bed and seeing the man whom we will know as Guildenstern, regardless of who he was or not, sitting in a wooden chair on the clear opposite side of the room, staring at him in a manner that suggested he had been up for a very long time, doing nothing but that.

He had looked sad.

No. Maybe not. The man who could be Rosencrantz, who had not yet noticed that day that he wasn't entirely certain who he was, found that as the day progressed, that memory of the morning became more and more uncertain. It had been that morning, right? At least in that he was, almost, certain. He had woken up to see Guildenstern looking distant and sad. Or was it only distant? Perhaps he was only sitting, thinking of nothing, impassive. Guildenstern often went to pains to appear impassive, unphased, unmoved. If one did not know him well, you could assume that he was indifferent to anything and everything, the way his eye always seemed far-away and half glazed, his mouth thin and straight. If one did not know him well.

But Rosencrantz did know him well.

Didn't he?

The thought pressed away in the back of his mind as his fingers flipped the coin. “Head,” he announced, almost without even looking at the coin, remembering at the last minute he ought to make sure it actually was heads when it landed. Rosencrantz was beginning to lose the point of it: after seventy-three heads in a row, certainly it ought to get to the point where one might assume it was always going to land on heads, regardless of probability? Or maybe because of probability, even. Despite everything Guildenstern was rambling about, as far as Rosencrantz could reason it out, if something always happened one way, forever, no matter what, well...then it probably will keep happening that way. Stands to reason.

“Are you alright?” Guildenstern (or Rosencrantz, potentially. Now that truly was a fifty-fifty possibility) suddenly asked, the question coming out of the middle of a speech about divine intervention and Lots wife, or something of the sort, and Rosencrantz felt himself genuinely taken off guard by this, as if in a sense, he had known how this admittedly odd conversation was going to go, and now didn't know what to make of it now that, again in the same sense, Guildenstern had gone 'off-scirpt'.

Which was a silly way to feel about it, Rosencrantz reasoned.

At first he responded with a mere shrug, still fiddling with the latest coin, but as he looked up and caught his companions eyes, he realized the absolute seriousness the question had been given to him with. Guidlenster's face was tense, his brow furrowed, something sharp in his gaze. The tension he saw in his friend transferred over, easily, and Rosencrantz asked with sudden unease, “Ought I not be? Is something wrong?”

Guildenstern did not answer for a moment, the two staring at each other in an uncomfortable, drawn out pause before Guildenstern finally broke the moment, turning away and shaking his head, “No. Sorry. You just seemed quiet, was all. You were only calling out what way the coin had landed half the time, which seemed...unlike you. That's all. There's nothing wrong with that. Sometimes people are just quiet. You're quiet today.” Guildenstern spoke, mostly as if talking to himself, his eyes worriedly looking out and around into the darkness (it was dark, wasn't it? Dark for the day, anyway. The question came and went out of Rosentrantz mind before he could examine it too much). He went quiet, still playing with his jacket, before stopping suddenly, as if catching himself fidgeting and being displeased by it, before turning back to Rosentrantz, “What's the first thing you remember?”

This felt familiar, somehow, and Rosentrantz relaxed, answering without much thought, “Ah, the first thing that comes into my mind, you mean?”

“No, the first thing you remember.” Guildenstern repeated, as if the question were obvious. Then, as Rosencrantz was about to answer how he had forgotten his first memory, it being such a long time ago, Guildenstern suddenly pressed his fingers to his forehead, a small noise of frustration, before he recovered, those clear, bright eyes turning to Rosencrantz with new purpose, “Nevermind, nevermind, forget that. What's the last thing you remember?”

“What, like my latest memory?”

“Yes.”

Rosencrantz considered the question, before saying with certainty, “This conversation.”

Guildenstern closed his eyes breathing slowly. But as frustrated as he seemed, he seemed to almost...relax a tad, at least in the sense that he wasn't fiddling with his jacket anymore or staring at him with eyes that pierced and cut. His expression had grown impassive again, and Guildenstern went to take a seat by Rosentrantz side.

Rosencrantz hadn't, until that moment, realized that Guildenstern had been keeping his distant from him since they had woken up that morning, and that realization made him reevaluate the memories that were already faded and hazy and untrustworthy to begin with. Answering his own line of thinking more then Guildenstern's question, though the two led thankfully down the same path anyway, Rosencrantz said, “I remember you seemed afraid this morning.”

Rosencrantz felt Guildenstern tense at this statement more then saw it. Or maybe he hadn't felt it, but just...knew that's where such line of questioning would lead. He heard Guildenstern shift away from him, slightly, and was sorry at this, his stomach churning with guilt. “Actually, I'm not sure.” he offered instead, wanting to take back the statement, or at least give it less harshly, “I mean, I woke up and saw you, and you...I'm not sure what you were. You seemed uncomfortable. I could have been imagining things.”

“It's alright,” Guildenstern said, “I was uncomfortable. I hadn't slept well the night before. That's all.”

“I'm sorry,” Rosencrantz offered, mostly because he didn't know what else to say, “We could go back? Back to...” Rosencrantz saw the hole in his knowledge and frowned, “Which way had we come from again?” He said, looking around the darkness. It was awfully dark, wasn't it? Dark for day. Dark for night, even.

And spacious. Dark and spacious.

“We can't go back,” Guildenstern said dryly, “We must move forward. The messenger, remember?”

“Oh, yes!” Rosencrantz said, for now he did. The knocking of the shutters. Someone calling out their names. “We've been summoned!”

Guildenstern sighed and stood up, stretching his back from the assault of the hard ground, “Yes, we've been summoned. A royal summons. Very urgent. No questions asked. So we must move forward.”

Rosencrantz nodded, getting up as well, now filled with a new sense of purpose, “Yes, forward! Which is....where?”

“I wouldn't worry about it,” Guildenstern said, brushing the dirt off his pants, “Someone will be along eventually. I think it's going to be a lovely day, really. Comparatively. There are always worst things, you find out.” his friend frowned, looking over to him. “Are you happy?”

“What?”

“Happy? Content, at least.”

Rosencratz didn't think about it long before answering, honestly, “I suppose so.”

The frown never left Guildenstern's face, but he nodded, as if appeased. “See? Yes. There are always worst things.”

Rosencratz finally felt himself worried enough to ask 'Are you alright?', when his mind was suddenly distracted by a faint noise. “Do you hear that? It sounded like a band.”

Guildenstern nodded, suddenly entirely relaxed, “Yes, well. That's alright then, isn't it.”

The two observed each other, Rosencratz deeply confused and Guildenstern relieved, as the scene continued the way, as one of them knew, it typically went.

-

A few scenes later, and Rosencratz had almost entirely forgotten by the mornings odditities from Guildenstern (whom he was becoming less and less certain actually was Guildenstern and not Rosencratz, as the royal family kept dreadfully confusing the matter for him), too overwhelmed by the oddities that seemed to by and large make up their entire existence. People he had never met before spoke to him as if they had long history together, but treated him with a polite indifference that bordered on malicious.

This Hamlet fellow, whom he still didn't really recognize, was truly supposed to be his oldest friend, and himself and Guildenstern his most dearest confidants? It was any wonder how Guildenstern and himself had ever put up with him in their childhood, if they ever truly had, for the man himself seemed to view them both as mildly interesting toys, at best, and hidden enemies, at worst. It was confounding and infuriating and more then a little hurtful, and Rosencratz was relieved every time Hamlet deemed it worthy to leave them, and felt nervous every moment he realized the madman was returning.

That panic and relief gripped him within moment of each other as Hamlet and his abused lover, Ophelia, passed by them momentarily, arguing hotly with each other over letters or something, and as himself and Guildenstern watched them walk away he turned to Guildenstern and shouted, “It's like living in a public park!”

Guildenstern nodded gravely, “Yes. Very impressive. I quite enjoyed that direct approach you used there. I thought you were going to stop this whole thing dead on its tracks.”

Rosencratz, at the brink of frustration and very near tears, said, “I'm not going to stand for it!”

There was silence then, silence for everything with the exception of Rosencratz breathing heavily, attempting to pull himself back into control, as Guildenstern shuffled about, staring at his feet. After a moment of calm, Guildenstern looked up, concerned. He was looking towards one of the doors that led into the entrance hall that it felt like they had been trapped in for many hours now, as if he was expecting something.

He walked towards the door, stared at it, before knocking at the door weakly. “Alfred?” He called out.

“Do you hear the band coming?” Rosencratz asked uncertainly, Guildensterns own odd behavior of the day coming back to mind now that the insanity of Hamlet's tragedy had let up for a moment. “I don't hear anything myself.”

“No,” Guildenstern said, still looking at the door as if he was expecting something any moment, “No, it's just...what did we do different? Something must have changed somewhere.”

“What do you mean?” Rosencratz asked, and suddenly the frustration of not being able to confront the royal family as he had wished he could boiled up, and he grabbed at Guildenstern to turn him around, furious, “You know, you've been saying peculiar things all day, did you know th-.”

“Don't!” Guildenstern shouted, pushing Rosencratz back with a force that completely took him by surprise, taking the wind out of his sails, or more accurately, the anger out of his gut as Rosencratz noted the sudden panic in his friends eyes.

He let go of Guildensterns arm immediately and stepped back, that same guilt from the morning twisting in his stomach as he murmured a hurried apology. He never really did mean to upset him, not badly, and as Guildenstern took several deep breaths, not looking at Rosencratz as he drew himself back together, Rosencratz knew he had stepped over some line somewhere. “I didn't mean to frighten you.” Rosencratz said, wringing at his fingers, hunching his shoulders as if to try and be smaller, “did I frighten you?”

Guildenstern didn't say anything for a moment, the shifting of his eyes betraying an internal debate, before he said with a shaky breath, “No. I mean, yes, but no. You took me off guard, is all. Everything's fine. I'm sure everything's fine. They're late. The order is wrong. It happens. You breath the wrong direction, a butterfly is unsettled by the breeze, suddenly the order is all wrong. It all fixes itself eventually. The narrative persists, turned but not undaunted, as I heard the pervert put it once. Did I tell you the story of the philosopher who dreamed he was a butterfly?”

Rosencratz was frightened by Guildensterns rambling, entirely unable to follow it, but simply answered, “No? I don't think?”

Guildenstern nodded, as if that explained everything, “Yes, see? One thing leads to another, even if you can't see exactly how it correlates. The proverbial butterfly becomes the actual butterfly, as it were, you see. My own fault, probably. We will wait. That's all to be done. We will wait for them to catch up to us. Or we shall catch up to them. One of these things will undoubtedly happen.”

Guildenstern took a seat in the middle of the room, and after a moment Rosencratz sat with him, his own internal debate racing away inside his head. He truly didn't like upsetting Guildenstern. They were both trying so hard to keep their heads on through all this, to survive all this, but what was the point of survival if they were perpetually unhappy? Guildenstern's default seemed to be unhappiness. Rosencratz seemed to always have to go some extra mile, some extra word, to get even something resembling the ghost of a smile out of Guildenstern, and it so rarely reached his mouth. Rosencratz always had to focus on Guildensterns eyes, to see those small, almost invisible little tells of when Guildenstern was merely tolerating Rosencratz attention, and when he was genuinely enjoying himself.

The game of questions. That had been the only point that day where Guildenstern had seemed actually happy. If not happy, then at least distracted to the point of content. Relaxed. Rosencratz wished they could live in that moment. Better that moment then this one, as the debate finally ended in his mind and Rosencratz asked, quiet to the point of timidness, “Are you keeping something from me?”

It had been something Rosencratz had been quietly considering for many points of the days, and Guildenstern's reaction, to grow very still, and then to pull his knees into his chest, resting his hands into a first on his knees, laying his chin at the point where his thumbs met, his eyes...impassive? Sad? Afraid?

Whatever it was, it was a confirmation of Rosencratz fear. That the one person he had felt like he was in this together with had been keeping secrets.

The silence went on too long, and finally frustration built enough at the evasion that he insisted, “Rosencr-”

“Guildenstern,” Guildenstern corrected, his voice, at the very least, the absolute model of control, “Most likely.”

“Right,” Rosencratz frowned, trying to remember that. Trying to imprint it in his mind. Knowing it would slip away, eventually, “Guildenstern, look, I'm not unobservant. You keep...it's as if you keep expecting things. You seem far less surprised by everything then I am, even when you, well, act surprised. And I only know how you really look surprised because every once in awhile something will happen, and even if to me it doesn't seem any more or less surreal then anything else about the day, it catches you off guard. Don't think that just because I havn't said anything means I havn't noticed.”

“So what?” Guildenstern asked, “Do you think I can see the future?”

“Can you?” Rosencratz asked, full of innocent wonder at the idea. It hadn't occurred to him. Observing the problem didn't mean he had come up with any good or plausible solutions to it. “Have you always been able to?”

“I can't see the future.” Guildenstern said with a small smile, but his eyes didn't match it. It was a teasing smile, a gentle mock. Rosencratz frowned at it. “I...look, what if I asked you not to talk about it? To not worry about it? What if we just went through the motions, and never brought it up again?”

Rosencratz considered this, before admitting, “That really just makes me want to know more.”

“Yes,” Guildenstern sighed, rubbing at his temples, “Yes, I suppose it would. What's the first thing you remember?”

Rosencratz frowned at this, before answering honestly, “You asking me that this morning.” The memory of Guildenstern staring at him upon waking up had gotten lost in the jumble of new, frightening moments that had happened between then and now, and Rosencratz would have struggled to remember it had ever happened even if specifically reminded of it.

Guildenstern nodded, apparently deciding something to himself as he said, “That's alright then, isn't it. That's fine. It's happened like this before, once. You asked the right questions without getting...anyway, fine. What's the worst that can happen?” He suddenly laughed, a barking, abrupt sound that was far from happy or mirthful. “Yes, alright. Let me explain.”

The door opened. A woman who looked like the queen stepped in.

-

The Tragedians were putting on, or at least rehearsing, a play in front of them, and while the play itself did seem very interesting, Rosencratz was distracted as, quietly, Guildenstern explained to him everything he knew.

It was a loop, apparently. A circle. A cycle that started on the morning that they were summoned by the messenger, went on for what Guildenstern had admitted was an amount of time he had never been able to actually measure into days, and then...ended.

“Ends how?” Rosencratz asked, as in the play in front of them two spies were instructed to take away the rightful heir to a foreign nation.

“Poorly. Stupidly.” Guildenstern said, a bitterness clear in every syllable, “with a death that isn't one, though we often don't know that. I don't always remember, you see. Sometimes we start the day and both of us spend the entire morning realizing we don't actually remember anything, and worrying quite a bit about it. Sometimes we both remember, but we only remember having done one or two loops. Those are the best times, I think. When we both remember only a little, together. Those sessions always feel full of a weird sense of progress, like we might actually have a grasp of a the clues to beat the mystery we're in. Most often we wake up and only one of us remembers a few loops, at most.”

Had Rosencratz not spent the entire day being confronted with one impossible thing after another, he might have spent this conversation being skeptical. Instead, he did his best to follow long, before guessing, “So we're in one of those cycles now?”

“Hm?” Guildenstern questioned noncommitedly.

“We're going through one of the days where I remember nothing, but you remember one or two loops, yes? How many have you done now?” Rosencratz asked, his mind boggling at the idea of having lived through this madness twice, let alone three times.

“Oh,” Guildenstern said, “That's a very intelligent question. Whenever our situation is reverse I always spend a ridiculous amount of time trying to logically prove how its impossible. I get a bit sick of myself, sometimes. No, we're in a very rare, somewhat...bad cycle. Not the worst, though, comparatively. I remember...” he frowned, a proper frown, the skin drooped down a the pressure and his eyes seemed hollow and sick at the thought of it, “I remember all of them.”

The two were silent for awhile. The Player, not getting the attention from them he was looking for, moved on to harrass and berate his troupes performance instead, stopping the play over and over again to make corrections. It looked like one of the characters was about to stab another one with a poisoned rapier.

Rosencratz tried to fathom the idea and wasn't surprised to find he couldn't, though it did make him feel a sick squeeze inside. “All of them, then? From the beginning?” He asked, not knowing what else to say.

Guildenstern shrugged, “Probably all of them. We'll never know for certain, of course, but...yes. It's always bad when either of us remembers all of them.” “

“And,” Rosencratz continued, taking out a knife to pick at his fingernails, “and that's a lot then?”

“More then I could count. And we used to count, back before the number became so frightening.”

“What was the last number we got to before we quit?”

“I don't remember. I don't like to think about it.”

“Yes, I suppose I wouldn't either. Sort of thing that could drive you crazy, really, if you think about it too much,” Rosencratz, and even as he said it, he realized the truth in this statement, a truth so terrible that his blood ran cold and his heart pounded in his chest. It was a terrible, mad situation, even if you knew nothing about it. But to know...to actually experience, first hand, how helpless they were to this insanity...

Rosencratz mind rejected observing that thought process, purely in self defense.

He looked over at Guildenstern, though, who seemed...more or less alright, considering what he was going through at the moment. “You seem okay.” he observed, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his friends shoulder, who flinched lightly at the touch. Rosencratz drew back his hand hurridly, “A bit skittish, but alright.”

Guildenstern shrugged again, “An oddness of the mind. Sometimes it just doesn't hurt like it can. A sort of numbness comes over you, to the point where none of it really bothers you. We've both experienced it that way. But...we don't always...handle it that well. You can imagine, I won't burden you with examples. Which is why I never try to remind you of it if we happen to go through a morning where I remember it all and you don't.”

Rosencratz frowned, playing with the cut nail. It always amazed him how hard cut nails were. They didn't seem so solid, so rocklike, when they were still connected to the finger. “But certainly even if you told me, I still wouldn't remember. I don't remember now, for instance. Why go through this alone?”

“It can get tiring, explaining.” Guildenstern admitted, and then seemed to want to hold back this last bit of information, finally spitting out almost despite himself, “and sometimes you and I will just remember randomly. We'll be halfway through the day, and something random, or nothing at all, will trigger it, and we remember everything. For the life of me I still havn't found a pattern in it. But I don't like risking those days if I can help it. Remembering it all, halfway through, are always the worst cycles. In fact, I'd rather we not discuss it anymore past this scene, if you can stomach it.”

Rosencratz knew he wouldn't be able to leave it alone, but didn't say so. Instead he said, “You keep using that word.”

“Scene?” Guildenstern guessed, “It's kind of how you and I have come to dissect the loops, to categorize it all. We talk to the Tragedians too much, if I'm honest, started picking up their lingo. They know too, sometimes, by the way.”

Rosencratz's eyes widened, looking over the play with renewed interest, though he had missed the ending. Two of the actors were pretending to hang themselves, for whatever reason. “They know?”

“Sometimes, kind of.” Guildenstern repeated, “That pervert leader of theirs, the most out of everyone, actually. I think he might actually always know. He might even remember all the loops, in fact.”

“How come you're not sure?” Rosencratz asked, bewildered, “Certainly we've asked, at least once?”

“They kill themselves, if we ask.”

Rosencratz had no answer to that, merely gaped at his companion, the most taken off guard he's felt since this whole bizarre conversation began. Everything else had at least had some sort of internal logic, a method in its own madness, that Rosencratz could follow, but this... “On God's earth, why!?”

“We'll likely never know for certain, but my theory is they're dirty cowards,” Guildenstern grumbled, glaring at the troupe, “They've accepted all of it, you see. Whenever one of them remembers, they just keep living through it, acting out their roles. They don't like living through the loops where you and I try to break our roles. So they just take themselves out of the loop until they get to one again where we don't ask them questions they don't feel like answering. We've never been able to succesfully get them to talk to us about it. Not clear headed anyway.”

“Ah,” Rosencratz laughed, surprising his friend, who looked over at him, startled, “so we already tried getting them roaringly drunk, huh? That was literally the idea I was mulling over when you said that.”

A small hesitation, and then Guildenstern smiled, and this one was genuine, the first of the conversation, that had reached all the way to his eyes. “Yes, we tried. I'm sorry to say that when it comes to who handles their liqueur better, the tragedians have us beat.”

The two chuckled at this, Rosencratz amused at how he imagined it went, Guildemstern at a distant memory, and with that it was as if the spell was broken, the tension leaving their backs and shoulders. “What a mess,” Rosencratz sighed, “What a true, actual mess. I don't know what to make of any of it. Have we made any progress at all in figuring out why this is happening? How to get it to stop?”

“Literally none whatsover, and it was certainly not for lack of trying,” Guildenstern muttered, eyeing the troupe warily as they started cleaning up from their rehearsal, “and todays a total mess anyway. I have no idea what I did, but scenes are dwindling on far longer then usual. Hamlet and Ophelia and the whole rotten bunch should have showed up several moments ago, bringing with them their demands and their melodrama and all of it.”

Rosencratz looked around curiously, as if the royal family might show up any second, before observing, “Maybe that's a good thing? If we really have been doing this for as long as you suggest-”

“We have.”

“-Yes, I know, I wasn't doubting you. But I mean, if this is considered unusual for you, and you truly remember all the loops, then difference is good, right? Difference is a clue to whats going on.”

Guildenstern frowned, immediately looking tired and years older, “We've been down that thought process many times now. I don't think there is getting out of this. I'm not entirely convinced there's an 'out' to get too. This might just be how things, you know...are. The whole of the human experience, as it were. All evidence suggests that to be true.”

Rosencratz shook his head, “No, that...it doesn't feel right. There's more to reality, this isn't normal, I can feel it in my gut. What have we done before? What have we tried?”

“We've done this before...”

“Humor me, please.”

Guildenstern sighed. “Alright. So, we've already discussed and looked into-”

He wasn't able to complete the thought. In the distance, but rapidly getting closer, Ophelia wailed.


End file.
